Last night, our nation's unfolding economic crisis came home to roost on my personal Main Street.
Last night, my eight-year-old connected the dots and began to fear.
Last night, my eight-year-old cried.
And, then, last night, my eight-year-old started asking pointed questions.
More below:
Over the last few months, my tiny family of two has found itself entangled in our ongoing economic contraction in ways both common and not.
When gas prices soared over $4, we began staying home most days, lounging in our backyard, sucking bulk popsicles from the big box, keeping our thermostat set as high as we could and still get by and making our own food and fun. When my kiddo, Sadie, would ask why, we'd talk about high gas prices, energy conservation and the economy in general.
When our dear friends shut down our favorite mommy-daughter hangout, the local indie coffee shop, she asked why.
"The economy," my friend, Gus, replied. "Our sales are down 40 percent since the beginning of the year."
As the store closed, they gave us the chair-and-a-half we had staked out as our own. Why?
"Because we can't afford to pay storage on the furniture, Sadie." Eyes big: "Really?"
When our favorite, neighborhood play-date family moved unexpectedly, shutting down their business and renting out their house out of desperation, another why.
"I'm sad, Sadie," explained my friend, "but we just can't afford to live here any more. We have to cut back expenses."
With every trip to the grocery store, with every change we made to our buying patterns, more and more whys:
"Why are we buying these frozen cans of juice instead of the big jugs? Why aren't we buying the organic milk with the cow on it? Why aren't we buying the boxes of cereal instead of these big bags? Why aren't we buying any candy?" Money, honey. We're trying to save money.
Why aren't we going to the movies? Because I can buy the DVD on sale in six months for less money than I pay for the two of us to go the movie just once. Or we can wait until it comes on TV.
So many whys. The same answers -- answers that are impossible to truly understand when you're 8 years old, you've led a sheltered life and your mother, family and friends treat you like gold. Money. The economy. Housing prices. Gas prices. Interest rates. Layoffs. Bankruptcies.
"Why can't we go on vacation like Lauren?" Well, honey, that's expensive -- and I'm still waiting on a check from one of my clients.
Over the last several months, she's started adjusting to the lay of the land, slowly breaking my heart. In the pick-up line at school: "Mommy, did the check come from your client yet?" No, baby. Not today. "Mommy, did the client buy the new project?" No, baby. Not this time. "It's OK, Mommy. Next time they will."
And she's been OK. Until last night.
Last night, as we drove down our street toward home, the bright yellow cottage at the start of the road that we had both admired so much was sporting a giant, official-looking "Public Auction" sign.
"Mommy, what does that mean?" It means the bank took the house away from the people who live there and they're selling it to get their money back. "Back from who?" From the people who borrowed the money to buy and fix up the house. "But where will that family live now?" I don't know, honey. Maybe with their family.
Quiet.
I look over as we pull into our driveway, and tears are streaming down her face.
"Mommy, are we going to lose our house?" Honey, why would you be worrying about this. We're OK. Truly.
"But those people just lost their house." Yes, yes, they did.
"And Will and Kristen had to move, too." Yes, they did.
"And the Nodding Dog shut down because of the economy." Yes, yes, it did.
"And your clients aren't paying you right now." Well, they're paying me, they're just taking their time. "But what if they stop?" Oh, honey. They're not going to stop. We'll just have to be patient.
"But I heard on the news this morning that millions of Americans are losing their homes?!" Yes, baby, that's true. Millions of Americans are losing their homes. But we're not one of them.
"Will we ever lose our house?" Not if I can help it at all. Of course, we might have to make some big sacrifices. What I can tell you, though, is that we won't be alone. Lots of people -- our friends, your friends, your friends' families -- they'll be making sacrifices, too. And we have lots of people who love us. We're going to be fine.
"I hate the economy!" Honey, I'm right there with you.
Some snuggling. More hugs. A trip to the store to buy $2 sunglasses for a school costume. No more tears.
On the way home, I turned on the radio to catch the start of the debate. Turns out, radio may be my preferred format for catching the debate. Sadie sat quietly, letting me listen. And listening for herself, as it turns out.
As I drove and listened, I couldn't help but mutter throughout McCain's mean-spirited answers. What a load of crap, I said. Who is he kidding? That's not the truth! Oh, my god. I can't believe he's saying this with a straight face.
Somewhere in the middle of the debate, McCain made his snarky remark that trying to pin down Obama's tax proposals was like trying to nail Jello to a wall, a phrase I happen to use a lot.
"Mommy, is that true? Is it like nailing Jello to a wall to pin down Barack Obama?" Mommy doesn't think so, Sadie. He's said he'll cut taxes for 95 percent of all families. He's only going to raise taxes for the people who can afford it the most. Does that sound confusing?
"Nope," said Sadie. "Not really. You know what I don't get, Mommy? I don't understand why John McCain just keeps being rude about Barack Obama instead of doing something to get you money."
Get me money? "You know, to get the clients to pay you faster, because they pay you slow now because of the economy." That's true. "Well, shouldn't he start being busy?"
Great question, Sadie. I'll pose it for you here again.
Senator McCain, as my friends' businesses shut down; as my clients have their credit lines shut off; as food prices and energy prices and healthcare prices take more and more dollars out of my budget; as our friends and neighbors get forced out of their houses, name one thing -- I mean, one serious thing, besides fake-suspending your campaign and making a handful of phone calls -- that you really, truly have done, by yourself, to fix our fundamentally sound economy.
Give me something -- anything -- to help me explain it to my increasingly fearful eight-year-old.
UPDATE: Thank you all for your kind words and support -- and, particularly, for your warm thoughts and wishes for my small person, Sadie. I want to stress that, while we're in austerity mode, we really are OK for at least the short while, touch wood. To all of you who wrote me offline to offer help, I thank you deeply -- but save your money for your own rainy day. Or, if you can spare it, shoot a small donation Obama's way.